


chemistry 'till it blows up

by slytherinmayflower



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Barely even counts, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Josie is annoyed, Lizzie and Hope are just dumb and destructive, really really light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 04:24:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinmayflower/pseuds/slytherinmayflower
Summary: Josie scoffs and rolls her eyes.Her sister is seventeen and in the middle of a divorce.Un-fucking-believable.(or in which Lizzie and Hope don't know what talking is and Josie tries to fix things)





	chemistry 'till it blows up

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a different format and the like, so let me know what you think :)
> 
> This has not been proof-read. Forgive me. It's like six am now. I have not slept.
> 
> (edit*: this has been given a cursory review and edit.)
> 
> Title:  
"Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves  
Chemistry 'till it blows up, 'till there's no us..."  
\- Afterglow, Taylor Swift

“Are they still fighting?”

The question comes as a cacophonous bang echoes through the school. There’s a pause, a short silence that leaves curious students to look around in confusion. Josie doesn’t even look up from her breakfast as the room rocks with an explosion, screaming coming quickly afterwards.

She sips her orange juice. “Yep.”

Rafael sits down beside MG, across from her. “Do we even know why they’re fighting?”

Josie sets her glass down.

Is he serious?

At her look, MG corrects him: “Do _they_ even know why they’re fighting?”

“No,” she says, “though I’m not surprised. I mean, it’s Lizzie and Hope. It took them literally sixteen years to tolerate each other. By the time they figure this out, we’ll all probably be dead.”

Josie pointedly ignores the fact that she’s part of the reason they hated each other for so long. It’s really not even relevant anymore. I mean, queer panic, who?

Well, Lizzie it seems. And Hope.

But mostly Hope.

The boys look up at the sound of glass shattering and Josie takes another piece of toast from the basket on the table, butters it, adds jam and waits for the screaming to start up again before she eats it.

She’s not about to go out there and check on them – no way, she likes her limbs attached thank you very much – but as long as they’re yelling at each other, they can’t really be dead yet.

“Y’know, I really think you should be a little more concerned,” Rafael twitches in his seat, nervously looking around like if he stares hard enough he’ll see them through the walls, “I mean, what if they kill each other?”

Josie looks at him blankly. “It’s Hope.”

“I know. Super powerful, super angry. And Lizzie’s pretty powerful too –”

“Raf, seriously? What – are we pretending you’ve never met her before? It’s _Hope_.”

“…And what? Like she’s never killed anyone before? I don’t get it,” he admits.

MG pats him consolingly on the shoulder, “Lizzie’s like her kryptonite. It’s not going to go that far –”

“How do you know that though? Jo, your dad seemed pretty worried about it –”

“My dad is having one of his male menopause moments, okay? Now that he’s not getting fired, he’s hitting his next mid-life crisis. Trust me, Hope is like his dream child – he couldn’t be happier she’s in love with Lizzie. They’re really not his problem,” Josie dismisses, getting up as the bell rings for class.

They move with the flow of students, all of them making extra effort to avoid the gym.

“But – he’s okay with them destroying school property?” Rafael wonders.

Josie shrugs. Maybe. He certainly hasn’t put in any effort to stop them, but that might just be common sense kicking in. Maybe he’s hoping to get a new gym out of it all though. The Mikaelsons would probably pay for one; some weird sort of appreciation donation for Hope finally getting a girlfriend.

If they ever get their shit together, that is.

“Nah man,” MG explains, “I know you don’t really get the deal yet, but Hope’s a Mikaelson. They’re Bruce Wayne levels of rich.”

“Probably richer,” Josie agrees.

“Yeah and they bank-roll the school because Hope goes here.”

“Right, that’s cool, I guess…Any ideas when we’ll get the gym back though?”

“Nope.”

\---

Here’s the thing: Josie notices things.

It’s a perk of being the twin in the background; she’s learned to observe, to pick up on things that are normally overlooked.

And yet, somehow, Josie hadn’t really seen this coming.

Except, subconsciously, she sort-of _had_.

It’s what led thirteen-year-old Josie to drive a wedge between them; to slander Hope and torch her room in a failed confessional.

They have a connection – a weird bond, a kind of claim that Josie’s never really understood.

Lizzie has always been fascinated with Hope, and Josie could understand that. Who wouldn’t be fascinated by Hope? She’s dark and brooding and dangerous – mysterious, tortured, _beautiful_. Half the school has had a crush on her, no matter how anti-social she is. Not even her last name can deter them.

But what she never really understood was Hope’s own fascination with Lizzie, because it wasn’t one-way.

Hope went out of her way – broke all her loner rules – to give Lizzie her attention.

Lizzie insulted Hope and Hope immediately clapped back.

Lizzie did something petty and Hope went out of her way to get back at her.

Push and pull. Give and take. Stupid and stupider – on it went.

She looks back on it now, and everything makes so much sense to her.

Josie put the brakes on them – slammed them straight into the guard-rails, really – made them think romance wasn’t a viable option for their strange connection but of course, it didn’t dissipate. It just manifested differently: a primal, probably unhealthy, kind of claim, where they were the only two allowed to pick on each other.

It was attention-seeking and possessive, Josie knows now; little girls pulling on each other’s pig tails to say _I like you _and _notice me_.

The most painful part of it all is Josie’s own ignorance to it.

It’s almost ego-destroying how oblivious she was.

They’re twins – they don’t last long in conversation without the other popping up somehow and so when Hope initiated a conversation with her by bringing up Lizzie, Josie didn’t bat an eyelid. It was just normal. Hope was just being nice. Hope was just looking out for her. Just being protective.

God, she wants to _slap_ herself.

I mean, seriously, Hope said she loves trash and five minutes later she’s calling Lizzie a dumpster-fire. And somehow, Josie still didn’t notice.

She hurts just thinking about it.

But Josie being oblivious to it is nothing like Hope being oblivious to it.

(And she _is_ oblivious. The poor sweet idiot is so unsocialised that she probably thinks the way she acts – the way she _feels_ is just because Lizzie’s her _best_ friend; and “best” just makes the _world_ of difference.)

It’s nothing like Lizzie feeling shot-down, shut-out and ignored.

That – that is just next-level destructive.

_That_ is the reason this whole thing is happening.

\---

“And last two things, I promise,” her dad smiles. It looks frustrated and pained at the edges like someone’s giving him a root canal.

Josie takes a quick glance around the assembly, looking for her sister and Hope. She’s almost surprised to see they’re not attending and yet nothing is blowing-up or breaking.

It’s kind of impressive.

“On the matter of school maintenance. The gym is now…clear,” he coughs, “but some equipment isn’t fit for use – the list is in the gym – and there’s new tarping covering the back wall.”

Or the hole where it used to be.

“Several windows on the second floor are being…refitted,”

After Lizzie blew them out.

“and Mr Newton’s lab is still being refurbished,”

After Hope blew up her chem-lab and set the place on fire.

“the swimming pool is finally snake-free,”

Hope’s poorly-thought out eighth-grade level prank,

“the kraken has been banished back to its original location,”

An upset Lizzie’s attempt at retribution.

“and we have finally – _finally_ – gotten a handle on the…dog situation,” he finishes diplomatically.

A three-headed hell-hound named Spot that Hope had conjured as some sort of misguided apology.

_He was meant to be friendly!_ _Like Fluffy_! she’d insisted, while doing absolutely nothing to get rid of him.

Seeing as she obviously hadn’t read the books, Josie didn’t know who told Hope that Fluffy was _friendly_ but she was quite inclined to beat them over the head for it.

It was probably Landon.

She’d get him later.

Josie is curious though. It can’t have been easy getting rid of him. And she certainly can’t see Hope helping – she’d gotten far too attached to him to help get rid of him. There was a meat-locker in the basement dedicated to Spot after-all.

“Now, if everyone could _please_ just…stop conjuring mythic creatures, that would be great. And lastly,” he checks his notes, “Ms Dayrd will be taking volunteers for a new horticulture project in the woods. Everyone involved will get some extra-credit and the joy of giving back to the environment. If you’d give your names to her in her office, please.”

“Horticulture project?” she hears someone ask.

“Tree-planting,” someone answers.

\---

“Hope –” MG tries and Lizzie hisses air out between her teeth.

Josie peers at them over her book, barely able to make out what they’re saying over her music.

Lizzie’s eyes are already narrowing despite the industrial-grade plastic of her smile.

This could be…something.

“Lizzie, seriously, you can’t just make her taboo –”

Lizzie glares him down. The smile is entirely gone.

The room starts to chill. Josie pulls up the zipper on her sweater.

“She’s our friend too –” he tries.

“MG,” Lizzie says between gritted teeth. It’s a clear warning – one Josie’s proud of her for even thinking to give – but MG doesn’t stop.

It’s like a car-crash waiting to happen.

She could stop it.

Josie could absolutely intervene.

She presses ‘pause’ on her music instead and sits back to watch it unfold.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her,” MG says and Josie sighs, because _yes_, but also – _no._

“Talk to her? _Talk_ to her!” Lizzie’s eye twitches.

MG looks at her desperately as Lizzie’s voice gets pitchier, her face reddening and Josie takes a moment to consider it.

Lizzie slams her palms down on the table. The veins in her neck stick out when she grinds her teeth hard enough to chip them.

MG leans back in his chair – doing his very best to not look like he’s trying to escape.

Moment over.

Nope. Not touching that one.

\---

“Thanks for abandoning me,” MG grumbles later.

Josie takes a sip of her water.

“I’ve been working on not getting involved,” she says.

It’s not technically a lie.

Technically.

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” Josie hums, “independence and all that.”

Independence. Personal safety. Potato, potato.

MG eyes her suspiciously, “So you didn’t just leave me hanging?”

“I believed in your ability to resolve a situation,” Josie shrugs.

“_Right_.”

\---

It’s still going on a week later and Josie is pretty sure the whole school knows what’s going on by now.

Not that that’s improved anything.

Made things more interesting? Sure.

More profitable? Potentially.

The school-wide betting pool on them making up or murdering each other is certainly in her favour – seeing as she’s emotionally linked to one half of the problem and best-friends with the other. She’d be almost offended by the amount of people betting Hope will kill her sister before the end of the month if she didn’t stand to make so much money off of their stupidity.

When the bookie – some bright-eyed fifteen-year-old newbie – tells her Hope killing her sister is the best bet, Josie outright laughs.

It’s stomach-cramping, chest-aching laughter that steals her breath as she tries to picture that naïve, love-struck girl killing her sister.

There’s an image of Hope as a moustache-twirling, monocle-wearing baddie that nearly bowls her over. But even in a world where Hope is evil, Josie can’t picture her _not_ trying to get with Lizzie – whether she knows that’s what she’s doing or not.

She puts fifty dollars on them making up before the end of the week and asks about the other options.

Lizzie killing Hope is the next best bet and Josie stares blank-faced as the bookie reads off a list of most-likely scenarios; the violent destruction of the school being a rather popular bet, though the cause changes as the list goes on. Near the end there’s mention of hate-sex but even that has less than kind odds.

Josie can’t believe that all the enhanced ears in this school can’t pick up the way their hearts must race around each other. She has half a mind to complain to her dad about the utter lack of competence among the supernaturally enhanced, out of sheer dumbstruck concern.

The bet for them dating is non-existent – “one to a hundred odds against,” the laughing bookie tells her, “not good.”

Josie puts a hundred bucks on it.

\--

“Honey,” her dad sighs, lips pursed and hands folded over his desk, “just…can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Uh,” Josie stammers, “nothing?”

“Nothing? Really? That’s what you’re going with?” he frowns.

“They’re just…having a little fight.”

“A little – a _little_ fight? Hope conjured a hell-hound, Josie – and your sister put a _kraken_ in the _pool!_”

…Yeah, there’s that.

“Look, daddy,” she blinks at him innocently, “I’m sure this will all resolve itself.”

“How sure?” he groans. There’s a stack of incident reports beside him and Josie can just make out the words “Hope”, “meat-locker” and “hell-pit” on the most recent one.

“Hundred percent!” she chirps.

Really? his face says and Josie nods.

It’s really more like eighty-seven percent sure, but it’s a white-lie. Good for his health. Easier on his grey hairs.

Her dad looks at her – that mix of knowing and resigned that he’s so good at just as something crashes outside.

…Okay, maybe somewhere in the seventies.

The fire-alarm goes off then, someone hollering about fire-flies not meant to _actually_ set fires and Josie watches the dread wash over her dad.

Snow drifts down from the ceiling and the feeling of impending doom weighs down her stomach.

Josie takes a second to re-evaluate.

She's still sure. Absolutely - ...Sixty-five percent sure.

Then Dorian walks into the room, looking very done with everything.

“The dog’s loose, Ric,” he says.

Her dad’s head hits his desk with a groan.

…Well, whatever the number, it's definitely above fifty.

\---

Her dad puts Hope and Lizzie on house-arrest and for a minute Josie thinks everything really will work out. That cooler heads will prevail.

It seems almost too optimistic for a pyromaniac, but she’s willing to try anything at this point.

Hope chooses to spend her time either in her room or huddled up in the stables with Spot – curling up against the giant dog’s body and looking so much smaller, more vulnerable than Josie’s seen in a while.

Josie volunteers to bring her meals but Hope barely talks to her, pouting and upset throughout all her visits.

Lizzie isn’t much better; confined to her room for lack of a giant three-headed dog of her own, she buzzes with anger. Josie’s does her best to talk her through it, to distract her; bringing her home-work and binging movies from the 2000’s, laughing at the dated references and technology.

It doesn’t ever seem to last long and Lizzie’s refusal to admit the hurt behind her anger, the frustration heavy in her soul only serves to irritate her.

She doesn’t really think of the affect their absence has on anyone else – figuring everyone too relieved at the lack of chaos to give it much more of her brain-power.

That is until she sees Pedro in the kitchen at midnight, huddled on a stool by the counter-top, sandwich ingredients spread out in front of him with an empty plate.

“Pedro? What are you doing here – it’s late.”

The little boy sighs into his hands, big doe-eyes disappointed as they stray to the clock on the wall.

“They’re not coming, are they?”

Josie rests a hand on his back, feels the warmth radiating off of him in his rocket-ship pyjamas.

“Who?”

“I just wanted a sandwich,” he pouts.

Josie reaches for the bread, “I’ll make you one, Pedro, no problem.”

Pedro shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. You can’t. Lizzie makes my sandwiches.”

Does she now?

Josie cocks her head curiously, following along as Pedro points out the many different ingredients her sister puts into his midnight meals.

“Lizzie makes them for me,” he says again and Josie feels the fumbling inkling of realisation start to form.

“And Hope is always with Lizzie now, so she has to be here too. Lizzie makes my sandwiches and Hope makes her laugh,” he smiles shortly before it dims again, the empty room clearly upsetting him.

Josie offers to make him a sandwich again and gracefully accepts his refusal, watching him shuffle disappointedly out of the kitchen with a quiet “I’m not hungry.”

Pedro glances over his shoulder before he leaves, like Lizzie and Hope will magically appear before he’s too far gone and Josie feels her heart break a little for him when nothing happens.

She heads back to her own room, climbs into her own bed and watches her sister shuffle around uncomfortably in her bed; like it’s too small and too big all at once.

Josie almost can’t believe it. (Some part of her does; if only because it’s dramatic [melodramatic, honestly] and ridiculous and overcomplicated and Hope Mikaelson is the other part of it all.)

There’s a wolf-howl outside the window, lonely and longing.

Josie scoffs and rolls her eyes.

Her sister is seventeen and in the middle of a divorce.

Un-fucking-believable.

\---

After a night dreaming of Pedro’s sad bambi eyes and a morning spent facing her miserable, grumbly sister, Josie needs to face the facts.

And she does – mighty gracefully, she could say.

And she does.

_Mighty gracefully_.

The likelihood of her sister and Hope pulling their heads out of their respective asses is honestly pretty slim unless someone gives them a push in the right direction.

Josie is a kind person, generous even.

She’ll do more than push them, she’ll kick them right up the ass.

Josie’s not into torturing herself, she wants a nice lead-in to her death march; a soft, easy starting point.

So, logically, she starts with Hope.

She brings her breakfast in the morning, with extra everything meat to butter her up and feels some part of her – the optimistic, kind, warm-hearted part probably – wither and die at the sight of her curled up under a massive, black paw.

She’s nuzzled into her hell-hound like it’s an over-sized teddy-bear and not a fifteen foot tall behemoth with three heads and very sharp, angry looking teeth. Blood-red eyes watch her approach. Its massive chest rumbles with a growl.

_Logically_, Hope puts her hands against that massive chest and nudges it, _chastises_ it.

Miraculously, she doesn’t lose either hand. Instead the hell-hound – _Spot_ – whines, lowers all three heads and settles for glaring at her while Hope pets him.

There’s a glint of metal, a giant dog-collar and a name-tag, looped around Spot’s massive neck.

_If found, please return to Hope Mikaelson_, is easily legible on the massive medallion.

Josie’s eyes roll so hard she thinks she can see the inside of her skull. Her brain’s not as pink as she imagined it to be. A little on the grey side, actually. Maybe she should get that checked.

She kind of just wants to go back to bed. She just…shouldn’t have to deal with this.

Josie’s stomach lurches a little in morbid realisation.

God – is this what her mother feels like? Just totally exasperated?

Rounding up children? Making them behave?

She’s raising toddlers. Sweet-Jesus. Where’s Penelope when she needs her?

“Hey Hope,” she smiles, “brought you breakfast.”

Hope doesn’t even look at her.

Josie grits her teeth a little, watching her card her hands through Spot’s fur.

Daringly, Josie comes closer. Spot’s massive heads twitch a little as she sidles up beside Hope’s slumped form. Josie presses down the urge to swat at it or throw fire as three yawning chasms open in front of her; tongues licking over razor-sharp teeth.

Hope gestures at the plate, “Can I have that?”

Duh. It’s _for you_. “Of course.”

She expects Hope to start eating; she looks hungry – a little gaunt, that concerned part of her says. She doesn’t expect Hope to start divvying up the goods between three whining mouths.

Each of Spot’s heads get some scratches when they start whining for more, an apologetic Hope promising to go get him some food from the meat-locker when the halls clear out after breakfast.

“Hope,” Josie says and then stops. What next?

Have you considered talking to her?

Pedro misses you?

Lizzie is a sad sack of human mushiness and angst, please go fix her?

“Will you come to breakfast?” she asks, gesturing at Hope’s empty plate. It’s a starting point, she thinks, a way to force Lizzie and Hope into the same space without outright confronting each other.

It’s a little bit genius.

Hope pauses, contemplating and suddenly all three massive heads shoot up.

Spot barks, loud and startling, eyes locked on the person at the stable doors.

Josie’s ears are ringing.

She’s pretty sure she misheard, but Lizzie repeats herself anyway.

“Jo? Can you like…not be here right now? Hope and I need to talk.”

She doesn’t actually look at Josie, eyes locked on Hope but in a familiar way. That gross, soft longing way that she used to do before.

“Lizzie,” Hope barely seems to breathe, eyes bright in a way they haven’t been in days. It’s disgustingly intimate: the way they don’t even seem to register her presence anymore, caught up in each other; finally having a single quiet moment where they’re not pretending to be angry or getting frustrated by their own confusion.

Hope flutters her hands nervously, sticking them right into Spot’s thick fur to hide them and Josie barely hides the smile that forms as Lizzie practically melts at the sight. Such a mush.

“Sure thing,” Josie says, looking back at them as she walks out and seeing as Lizzie brushes her hand over one of Spot’s snouts with ease.

Maybe she doesn’t actually have to do anything.

\---

“…What’s his name?” Lizzie asks, smiling softly as she alternates pets between all three of the dog’s massive heads.

“Spot,” Hope says, fisting his fur lightly.

Spot whines, one massive head licking the side of Hope’s face.

Lizzie snorts at the look on her face; part of Hope’s hair slicked upwards. Hope closes her eyes briefly, opening them to side-eye Spot. He whines at her, puppy-like as he noses at her playfully and Hope folds immediately.

Quite the Alpha, obviously.

“I’m sorry, I can’t –” Lizzie laughs, reaching out to smooth her wayward hair down again.

Her hand pauses, fingers trailing down from Hope’s ear to her jaw as their eyes lock.

Hope’s brow furrows, pressing into Lizzie’s touch when Lizzie goes to pull away.

She goes to say something and Lizzie bulldozes her, heart fluttering and stomach churning with nerves.

Lizzie gestures at Spot, eyes flitting between Hope’s mouth and somewhere just above her eyes.

“…Josie said you summoned him for me.”

Hope nods.

“He’s cute,” Lizzie says, smiling at the way Spot huffs at the word.

“He’s…erm…an apology, I guess…I just thought – You told me you always wanted a dog like Fluffy,” Hope stutters, not quite looking at her.

Lizzie’s heart swells with affection. “You remember that?”

“Of course,” Hope says, “I remember everything you say.”

She says it so easily, like it’s not a big deal and Lizzie is torn between wanting to hit her and just – kiss the life out of her. She’s so sweet and she doesn’t even know it.

Spot eyes her, leaning towards her before he looks back towards Hope.

It feels entirely too communicative for a dog, but then again he _is_ a hellhound so maybe there’s some leeway.

Lizzie steps closer, heart hammering.

“So, if I tell you something…you’ll listen?”

“Always,” Hope looks at her so earnestly Lizzie almost loses her train of thought.

The cute bastard.

“Right,” she nods, time to take a leap, “so I’m in love with you.”

Hope’s mouth hangs open a little.

“And I’ve been getting really annoyed that you didn’t notice – or say anything. Because I thought you knew, for like a _while_, but then it kinda dawned on me that you’re more than a little oblivious. And every time I tried to tell you, you always took it the wrong way," she huffs, thinking of an especially annoying confession where Hope had knuckle-bumped her like a complete ass, "and I guess you could say I’ve been more than a little frustrated with you but I just – I can’t exactly stay away from you, Hope. I’m in love with you. Not being around you sucks.”

Hope doesn't say anything.

A pink tongue dances over Hope’s lower lip, dragging it back between her teeth. Lizzie bites her own in response, delighted at the way Hope’s eyes dart down to watch.

She’s not dead then. Just in shock, maybe.

The sweet, oblivious idiot.

_Her_ idiot, though.

“You’re…”

“In love with you,” Lizzie fills in.

“Me?” Hope squeaks.

“Yes, you – always you,” Lizzie asserts ardently, “I don’t really think I could love anyone else, Hope. It’s just you.”

She tugs lightly at the end of Hope’s hair, doing her best to hide her nerves as she steps even closer.

Being near Hope again sets her on fire inside, sparks her nerves with want and electricity.

Hope just sort of sways closer, like she's magnetically drawn to her; her hand latches around Lizzie's waist and Lizzie’s whole being just seems to sigh in relief, in comfort.

“Can we just…stop fighting, please? We don’t have to do anything but I just…I just want to be around you.”

There’s a pause where the earth feels like its spinning – and then everything just kind of freezes.

Hope sighs. It sounds a little like relief.

“Lizzie,” her name sounds like a breath, life-sustaining in some way and Hope steps into her, presses up onto her toes and _kisses_ her.

Lizzie feels like she’s falling; two arms hugging her tight and a mouth pressed fervently to her own; teeth nipping and tongue teasing and just – wonderful.

“Lizzie,” Hope breathes into her mouth, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering about wllw: by summer's ripening breath - no I have not forgotten it. Yes I am planning on updating. I've just been having some technical difficulties and trying to recover a lot of lost files (that I have no access to and so have been forced to rewrite scenes and things I had planned). It'll be out soon-ish. :)


End file.
